


Wet

by Govi



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-23
Updated: 2010-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-09 02:41:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Govi/pseuds/Govi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>four drabbles</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wet

**Wet**

Merrick, self acclaimed ascetic, sighed as he tried to relax under the hands of his masseur. In many ways Viggo was very good and he should really be grateful to Dr. Johansson for recommending him. The lower back pains that had been torturing him for weeks had subdued to a faint shadow after six treatments and Viggo had promised him they would soon disappear completely.

On the down side though, Viggo’s hands on his body, insinuating themselves under the tiny towel that was placed over Merrick’s lower body, evoked feelings he had thought dead and gone a long time ago.

Merrick barely managed to preserve his pride afterwards, wrapping the towel around his waist loosely, while he uttered a few words of thanks to Viggo who supported him climbing off the table.

As always, Merrick went straight for the luxurious bathroom that was part of his private quarters inside the facility. *To wash, to rinse away the fragrant oil Viggo used on his back,* he assured himself.

Instead, underneath the water streaming down on him, he wrapped his hand around his rebellious cock and stroked himself ferociously, cool deliberation left behind with his glasses on the shelf above the sink.

When the shower door opened Merrick startled, trying to blink away both water and poor sight.

“What…?” he started saying, but a mouth closed over his and stilled him. The same strong fingers that had worked on his back now combed through his hair, making it fall over his forehead and he surrendered to that voice.

“I wondered what you looked like without the glasses, without that slicked back hair and God… yes”

He readily turned as the strong hands guided him, pushing him against cool glass and he rested his forehead against it, giving in, being moulded into shape.

Merrick felt a coarse rasp of tongue against his neck, groaned as a hand wriggled in between, sliding up, searching out a nipple and _claiming_ it, rolling and pinching and he bucked up, craving for a friction he couldn’t have, not from the damp wall.

Pressing his face to glass, closing his eyes when a slick finger started exploring the crack between his buttocks, rewarding every moan that escaped his lips with a stroke deep inside of him. He tried for reassurance, for something...

*I could fire him tomorrow,* and – yes – he could, but then again, would he want to?


End file.
